


Disjunctive Normal Form

by lovesrainscent



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,913
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesrainscent/pseuds/lovesrainscent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In logic, the expression NOT (A AND B) is equivalent to (NOT A OR NOT B). Severus considers the less-than-functional relationship he shares with Hermione.  Originally written January 2004.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Disjunctive Normal Form

**Disjunctive Normal Form**

_Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Harry Potter characters._

He reached to stroke her arm tentatively in the darkness. It was something he found himself doing more often lately, almost as if he were reassuring himself that she were still there. He enjoyed her company more than he had ever expected he would, her mere presence was pleasant. He was uncomfortably aware of the fact that it was more than that he enjoyed her presence, more than the fact that he wanted her with him, lately she had become… necessary.

He had a difficult time admitting that to himself. The fact that she was necessary to…him was disquieting to say the least. Necessary for his happiness, necessary for his pleasure, these were concepts he could understand. But she was necessary for him to simply be Severus. The Severus who had survived the war and outlived both his masters, the Severus who at last was unfettered from his past, who for the first time in his life felt fulfilled – yes, she was necessary for that Severus to exist.

She moved slightly in her sleep and he withdrew his hand lest she should wake and find him studying her. It was indeed disquieting to need someone so absolutely. It was both terrifying and exhilarating. He found it such an exquisite feeling that he was sure there must be a term to describe it.

He wondered if this might be love? Might he actually be in love with her?

As soon as the word flitted across his mind he tried to banish it. What he had with her was too fragile for him to risk ruining it over a mere word.

He sat up quietly in the bed, drew his knees up to his chest and wrapped his arms around them. She turned onto her back, tousled hair splayed around her face like a dark halo against the white of the pillow. He peered at her in the darkness and then turned to stare out the window.

He thought back on their relationship. He recalled all too clearly the fact that he had not only outlived Voldemort and Dumbledore, but both Potter and Weasley as well. If only…

If only one of those two had survived…

If only one of those two had survived then perhaps he could be sure that she was with him because she chose to be.

Why was he deluding himself? If either of the two of them had survived the war she would have been sharing a younger man's bed this evening. She would have been sharing Potter or Weasley's bed and Potter or Weasley's life. She would never have chosen him if either of those two were here now.

He let his thoughts drift back these past few months. He had been present at the final battle. He had seen her face, seen the mixture of shock and anguish when she realized that the battle was theirs but that both Harry and Ron were dead.

Lupin had been there that night, too. By rights, she should have turned to dear Professor Lupin for comfort. If anyone could have understood the depth of her anguish it would have been him. But she hadn't, she hadn't turned to anyone – instead she had withdrawn from the wizarding world for a period and then returned dutifully to Hogwart's when requested by Minerva to take the Associate's position teaching Arithmancy.

He had found her a competent co-worker. After some few months he had invited her to dine with him privately one evening. To his satisfaction she had accepted and the conversation had been engaging – comparing notes on students they had in common between their classes. Although anytime the topic strayed toward their own past experiences involving the war she skillfully turned it away. They shared several more tete-a-tete suppers and one evening he had asked her to stay.

Once again to his satisfaction she had accepted.

The rest of that night was as physically agreeable as the earlier conversations had been. Hermione lacked art but was not shy about asking both for what she wanted as well as what his preferences were. At age twenty, he hadn't expected her to be a virgin and he was correct in his assumption. That did however raise the question of who had taken her virginity.

Not that it mattered in the least. He had been brought up in a family steeped in the traditions of the old ways. 'The lady lies with whom she will' was a natural worldview for him. Still, he wondered if it had been Potter or Weasley. Or perhaps it had been Krum; he recalled that she had been rather smitten with Krum once.

He found himself preferring the idea of Krum as her first lover. Then it would have been an affair that was well and truly over and not one that lived on as an eternally unfulfilled 'if only' in her heart.

He muttered something at the moon and turned back to studying Hermione. They had been together off and on for months now, lately more often than not. At first she would not stay the night. After sex she might doze lightly with him for a while, but always rise and dress briskly before the dawn. Then one cold winter's night he had caught her wrists as she started to leave and coaxed and cajoled her to stay, whispering to her about the wretched cold beyond the bedclothes and promising to warm her with his own body if needed. She had giggled and pretended to struggle against him, laughing all the while as he did cover her with his body and warm them both again.

For the first time, their lovemaking had been playful. When she had smiled at him that morning, it had brightened her eyes like the winter sunrise. He understood then why the Goddess was Queen both of love and laughter. There had been far too little laughter between the two of them. He wanted to look for ways to change that.

He had not anticipated that he would not see her for days after that.

Certainly they had passed one another in the hall, exchanged greetings and other inane pleasantries. But she hadn't returned to his chambers nor invited him to hers for almost two weeks. And the night that she did return she had only stayed for dinner.

Shortly after that they had resumed their physical relationship, only now he was painfully aware that what was missing was intimacy. And he now also understood that she had most definitely chosen him. He was the 'safe' choice for her.

The irony was not lost on him. She had chosen him because it was 'safe' – no need to fear that he would probe the depths of her grief, the profoundness of her loss. She could hide away in work and in their almost-relationship and everyone would assume she was getting along swimmingly. In short, she had no need to fear that he would care.

She had chosen him because she was trying to build her own walls to shut out the world and he had spent the last twenty-odd years perfecting his own shell. He would have laughed bitterly but he didn't want to wake her.

It was a clever trap. He had to admit that. Did she even know that she had set it?

He had observed her around Remus – how she almost shunned the man – exchanging only the minimum courtesies. She knew that Remus would care, Remus would pry. Remus would probe beneath the shell that she hadn't perfected yet. He would lance her heart with his pity and his sympathy and she would heal.

Goddammit, couldn't she see that he, Severus, could do that for her? His shoulders were broad, he could help her carry her load. His arms were warm, they could embrace her in her sorrow as they did in bed. She could cry out her heart to him… couldn't she?

Apparently not. Because it would involve asking, because it would involve prying. How could he ask, 'For whom do you grieve the most, Hermione? Whose name is it that you whisper in my bed when you're sleeping on a pillow wet with tears? Whose?'

And he couldn't ask, he knew it. How could he bear to hear the answer to the question 'Who is it that you loved the most?'

The answer would never be Severus. And she would never lie so he would never ask.

So, here they were with a Severus newly made, master of his own fate for the first time in his life and an Hermione broken by the war and its cost.

He wanted to help her heal, he needed to know that he could do that. He wanted her the way she was before the war had…done things to her. He had always admired her zeal for learning, her passion for doing her best, whatever the undertaking. He wanted that back – for her own sake if not for his. Surely it couldn't have all been used up when Potter and Weasley had died?

Caring, helping, needing, it was all very new for him and most unsettling. He found that he desperately wanted to be good at them. But just how newly made was he, if the thing holding him back from asking was fear? Coward . He had always been such a coward. If he truly cared about her he would ask and hear whatever she had to say.

But if he told her that he loved her and heard that she didn't, couldn't love him…? If he said that he needed her only to find out that she didn't need him… it was an abyss, yawning dark and terrifying in front of him.

She had said an interesting thing to him today. Perhaps that's why his mind was so preoccupied with the state of their relationship tonight. They had been walking back to his chambers from the library when they had come up on a pair of students out after curfew. Before he could speak she had sharply sent them back to their respective Houses, taking 10 points from each as well. As they left, she had looked up at him with a half-smile that almost reached her eyes and said, "I'm a better Professor when I'm with you." Then she had added almost too softly for him to hear "I'm a better person when I'm with you."

Extraordinary.

Perhaps it wasn't precisely love that they shared but he had long since begun to realize that without her in his life he would be diminished. And tonight, she had in effect, indicated that the same was true for her. It was extraordinary. It was tentative and fragile but it gave him hope.

It was hard to wrap his mind around the logic, but there it was. If they weren't together then they would each be diminished. He smiled at the elegance of it. In English, 'or' often held implied exclusivity – 'we can go to the library OR to the Great Hall' but in logic OR did no such thing. If they weren't together, if they were not Severus AND Hermione then she would be…less than what she was right now. Somehow, knowing that took the edge off the fear.

And, after all, he reasoned to himself – it might be more than most people have in a lifetime.

Fin


End file.
